Modo and Mama Sky
by Susan M. M
Summary: Modo's hurt and forced to rely on the kindness of strangers.
1. Chapter 1

**Modo and Mama Sky**

 **Standard fanfic disclaimer** that wouldn't last ten seconds in a court of law: these aren't my characters. I'm just borrowing them for, um, typing practice. Yeah, that's it, typing practice. Based on characters and situations created by Tom Tataranowicz and Rick Ungar. **Warning:** Mary Sue.

 **Modo and Mama Sky**

 _Biker Mice from Mars_

By Susan M. M.

 _For Rilla Heslin of Windbourne, aka Mama Rilla_

 _Also for Griff-chan and The Third Biker Scholar._

 **BMFM BMFM BMFM BMFM**

Modo awoke to hear a kid's voice asking, "Is he a lab rat?"

"My mama didn't raise no stinking rats," he murmured.

"No, of course not," a female voice reassured him. He didn't recognize the voice, but it was soft and gentle. The hand on his forehead was gentle, too. "Now rest. You're hurt."

Modo closed his eyes. Obeying her struck him as a really good idea. As he started to drift off, he heard her explain, "A rat's nose is longer and more pointed, and the tail is completely different. I know what rats look like; I've killed enough of them."

 **BMFM BMFM BMFM BMFM**

Modo opened his eyes slowly. His eyelids hurt. His whole body hurt. His left arm was especially sore.

"Mama Sky, he's awake!"

Modo heard footsteps running away, a child by the voice and the light steps. A moment later he heard more footsteps. Slower, heavier, an adult. A woman walked into the room. It was hard to tell with humans, but he thought she was older than Charley. He sniffed cautiously. "Is that pizza I smell?"

"Uh-huh," she replied. Her hair was strawberry blonde.

"Any chance of getting a slice?" he asked.

"With a possible concussion?" she asked in an I-don't-think-so tone of voice. "Let's start you on chicken noodle soup, see if you can keep that down."

"I'd rather have pizza."

"I'd rather be on a Caribbean cruise. We don't always get what we want. How are you feeling?"

"Sore," Modo admitted.

"Good."

"Good?" The gray-furred mouse was sure he'd misheard her or misunderstood her.

"If you'd said anything else, I'd have known you were lying." She gently touched his right arm, an inch or two above the prosthetic. "You and pain are old friends. "

"Friends, no." He started to shake his head, then stopped. Moving hurt too much. "But pain and I, we're no strangers." He looked around, very slowly. He didn't recognize his surroundings.

"Are you feeling nauseous?"

"No, my stomach's 'bout the only thing that doesn't hurt."

She held up her right hand. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Three fingers. " He glanced down and saw a long row of neat black stitches on his left arm. "Where am I?"

"My place. I'm Joyce Schuyler. Most folks call me Sky, or Mama Sky. What should I call you, or would you prefer sticking with 'hey, you'?"

It didn't show beneath his eyepatch, but his left eyebrow rose in surprise. Sky had very carefully avoided asking what his name was. 'What should I call you' wasn't the same thing as 'who are you.' "I go by Modo."

"Well, Modo, do you feel up to a little soup? Since you're not feeling nauseous?"

"Yes, ma'am, that'd be mighty nice of you."

"Some people think I'm a nice person." She smiled. "Some people don't." She left the room and came back a moment later with a bowl of soup on a tray. "Do you think you can sit up a little, if I help you?"

Modo started to scoot up, then realized something. He felt the sheets against his bare fur. "Where are my clothes?"

"Getting the bloodstains washed out of them. You'll get them back when they're clean and dry," she assured him.

"But how did I – " Embarrassed, he stopped in mid-sentence.

"I'm a married lady," Sky told him. "And I'm a tactical medic. Open up."

Before he could reply, she stuck the spoon in his mouth. He tried to protest that he could feed himself; she ignored him.

After he swallowed two or three spoonfuls of soup, he managed to ask: "Ma'am, you never did answer my question. Where am I? And how did I get here?"

"This is my home. A young friend of mine found you and brought you here. He knew I had a habit of taking in strays, and he knew I had paramedic training." Sky looked pointedly at his ears and antennae. "He had a feeling you might prefer not to go to a hospital."

"Yeah, I don't think one of your hospitals would deal too well with me," Modo agreed. Charley had warned them that if the government caught them, they might wind up in as much trouble or more as if Limburger caught them.

She placed the spoon in his mouth, cutting off further conversation for the moment.

"Did I hear thunder before?" Modo asked, once she gave him a chance to speak. It had been raining before; he remembered wet roads, or at least he thought he did.

Sky shook her head. "We're above a bowling alley. It's noisy, but the rent is cheap."1

Modo finished the soup. "Thank you, ma'am."

"You're a guest in my home."

Before the Plutarkians came, those words meant something on Mars. He wondered what they meant here on Earth.

"Aunt Joyce! Telephone!" a girl screamed.

"Excuse me a moment." Sky got up and left the room. She came back five minutes later. "That reminds me, is there anybody you need to call, somebody you should -." She looked at his sleeping body and didn't bother finishing her sentence.

 **BMFM BMFM BMFM BMFM**

"Vinnie, Throttle," Charlene Davidson's voice came over the CB.

"What is it, Charley-girl?" Throttle asked. He was a tan-furred Martian mouse, almost as tall as Modo.

"Lil Hoss just limped into the garage, by herself," Charlie repeated.

Vinnie swore, muttering words the white-furred mouse ordinarily wouldn't use in front of Charley. Lil Hoss was Modo's bike. There was no way she would have willingly left her rider behind.

"We'll be there as quick as we can, Charley," Throttle told her. "Do what you can for Lil Hoss."

Throttle and Vinnie immediately headed for the Last Chance Garage, Charley's business and home. Both were too worried for Modo to trade recriminations about what had gone wrong and whose fault it was. Especially since it wasn't anyone's fault. Things happened in war.

Limburger's minions had been chasing them. They'd split up, forcing Limburger's henchmen to do the same. After Vinnie and Throttle had lost their pursuers, they'd tried to rendezvous with Modo.

Only they couldn't find him.

They hadn't been concerned, at first. Modo was a big boy, perfectly capable of taking care of himself. They'd figured he'd been leading Limberger's men on a wild chase. But it had been raining and the roads were slick. Modo was one of the finest motorcyclists on Mars or Earth, but none of the biker mice had much experience on wet roads. When he didn't meet up with them, didn't answer their calls - CB or telepathic - and couldn't be traced through his tracker ... Vinnie and Throttle began to worry.

Ten minutes later, they pulled up into Charley's garage. "Where is she?" Throttle asked.

"Over here." Charlie showed them where she'd been working on Modo's bike. "She's pretty banged up."

"She sure is," Vinnie agreed. He turned his head and saw thick, fluffy white towels folded up on the counter. He grabbed one and tossed it to Throttle, then took another one and started drying himself off.

Draping the towel around his muscular shoulders, Throttle approached Modo's bike. He knelt beside her. "Hey, Lil Hoss. You think you can lead us back to Modo?"

Her lights blinked off and on.

Throttle reached out and caressed the bike's handlebars. "Good girl."

"She should be ready to go out in about ten-fifteen minutes. Until I finish some repair work, she's not road-ready," Charley warned. "I'm not sure how she managed to make it back to the garage, to be honest."

"Heart and stubbornness," Vinnie said.

"She's got plenty of heart," Throttle agreed. "Do what you can for her, Charley."

The human mechanic nodded. "I'll do my best."

 **BMFM BMFM BMFM BMFM**

Modo woke up to find two young boys staring at him. The older one was Eurasian, about nine or ten years old. The younger one was African-American. Both were in pajamas. Modo was confused. From what Charley had told him and from what he'd seen on television, humans generally only had one skin color in a family. Not like Mars, where brothers and sisters might have different colored fur.

"What you staring at?" he asked.

"You," the younger one replied honestly.

"What's the matter, never seen a mouse before?"

"Not as big as you," the older boy said.

"Or with a pirate eyepatch," the younger one added.

A teenaged girl came into the room. Her hair was carroty-orange, not strawberry blonde like Sky's, but there was a mild resemblance between the two females. She wore a pink bathrobe over her pajamas. "What are you doing out of bed?"

"We wanted to meet the mouse," the Eurasian boy said.

"Aunt Joyce said to let him rest. Now get back to bed, before Aunt Joyce catches you bothering him." Reluctantly, the boys obeyed her and left the room. Despite herself, she gazed at the fathom-tall mouse, trying not to stare, but failing.

"They ain't bothering me," Modo fibbed.

"Aunt Joyce said you're supposed to rest, and you can't do that if the boys keep harassing you."

Modo asked. "Them boys your brothers?"

She shook her head. "Ken's my cousin. He's Aunt Joyce's son. Malachi lives with her. He's an orphan and his dad was her partner, so she's taking care of him." She paused a moment, then added, "I'm Alice."

"Hello, Alice." He tried to think of something else to say, hoping to get his brain to start working at full power. He failed. The pain blocked out most thoughts more complex than 'ouch.' "How many of you live here with your aunt?"

"Five at the moment, six counting you. Me and my brother, we're staying with her while my Dad is overseas and Mom goes back to school. Ken's her kid. Malachi. Sometimes others. People who need a place to stay for a day or two."

"She said - she said something about taking in strays."

Alice nodded. "She does. The guy who found you, he stayed with her for a few months." She stared again. You didn't see a six-foot tall mouse with antennae every day. "I - I should probably let you rest."

"Gotta admit," Modo yawned. "Rest sounds good."

 **BMFM BMFM BMFM BMFM**

It was closer to half an hour before Charley pronounced Lil Hoss fit to return to the road to search for Modo. Throttle and Vinnie had put the time to good use: getting dry, warming up, eating hot dogs, and drinking root beer. Charley had learned to buy hot dogs and root beer by the case for her Martian friends; it was cheaper and easier.

Charley wiped the grease off her hands. She reached for a helmet.

"Uh-uh, Charley-girl." Throttle shook his head.

"Excuse me?" the brunette asked.

"You need to stay here, just in case Modo manages to make it back on his own."

Charley opened her mouth to protest, then shut it again. Throttle was right.

"We'll call as soon as we know something," Throttle promised. Vinnie nodded in agreement.

"Be careful, guys." As they drove out into the night, she quietly quoted Milton to herself: "They also serve, who only stand and wait."

And she waited. And waited.

 **BMFM BMFM BMFM BMFM**

Modo felt something touching his forehead. Assuming it was an enemy's weapon, he reached out with his left arm to grab it. His paw clutched only air.

"Easy, easy," a female voice said. "Just checking your temperature."

"Charley-ma'am?" Modo asked weakly, not fully awake. He opened his eyes. He saw a human woman, but it wasn't Charley.

"Do you remember me?" she asked gently.

Modo struggled through the pain for the memory. "Mama Sky, you said."

"That's right. Do you remember what happened, where you are?"

"Chicago. Some of Lim- " He stopped himself, not wanting to say too much when he didn't know if he could trust her or not. "Some folks who don't like me very much were chasing me and my bros. We split up, tried to lose 'em. My bike skidded on wet roads ... My bros, my bike!"

"A young friend of mine found you and knew I had a habit of taking in strays," she reminded him. "He didn't see anyone else."

"And my bike?" Concern for Lil Hoss filled his deep voice.

"He only saw you. Didn't mention a bike."

"Maybe she got away," Modo murmured.

Sky raised an eyebrow at that, but didn't ask. She'd heard rumors of motorcycle-riding giant mice who left mayhem in their wake. Some said they were nothing but urban folklore. Some said they were real, but disagreed as to whether they were vigilantes, villains, or vandals.

"Think you could manage a glass of water?" she asked.

"Yes'm."

"You allergic to aspirin?" She longed to give him something stronger, but had no idea how it would react with his alien anatomy.

"Not allergic, but they don't do much for me," he explained.

"You can have water and two aspirin, or just water. Your choice," she offered.

"Make it four aspirin, and you got a deal," he told her. Any dosage less than that his body wouldn't even notice.

Sky shook some pills out of a waiting bottle. She handed him the pills, then held the glass for him as he drank. Then she sat beside the bedside until he fell asleep again.

 **BMFM BMFM BMFM BMFM**

Throttle and Vinnie followed Lil Hoss through the dark streets of Chicago. Lil Hoss led them to the scene of the accident.

Big metal trash cans were scattered across the alleyway. Vinnie and Throttle sniffed in unison, then frowned. There was blood on the trash cans.

"Skid marks," Vinnie said, pointing to the pavement.

Throttle reconstructed the scene. "He lost control of his bike on the wet road, slammed into the trash cans. Got hurt." He sniffed again, then shook his head. "Can't follow the blood trail. The rain washed it away." He turned to Modo's bike. "Can you lead us to him, girl?"

Lil Hoss' front wheel twisted back and forth, clearly saying no. The two Martian mice examined the area as best they could, but they were soldiers, not detectives. If there was a clue there to Modo's whereabouts, they couldn't find it.

Dejected, their tails and antennae drooping, they returned to the garage. Neither felt up to going back to Quigley Field. When they arrived, they hugged Charley wordlessly, then crashed on her couch _._

 **BMFM BMFM BMFM BMFM**


	2. Chapter 2

Modo woke to the call of nature. He glanced at the nightstand beside the bed. Sky had left a brass bell there in case he needed to ask for help. But it had been embarrassing having her stick that bedpan under the blankets, and more embarrassing when she had examined the contents of the bedpan, looking for traces of blood. He would prefer to avoid that happening again, if he could.

Slowly, very slowly, he eased himself out of bed. He felt a little off-balance for the first few steps. He kept one hand on the wall as he made his way to the door. His Martian senses being much more sensitive than a human's he was able to find the bathroom without any trouble. He did what he needed to do, then returned to the guest room.

He only needed to hold onto the wall a few times on the way back. He took a deep breath, more tired than he'd expected to be from the short walk. He glanced at the bed. Deliberately, he walked around the room. He hadn't had a chance to see anything but the ceiling yet. Modo didn't think Sky would approve of him being out of bed, but he at least wanted to look around before he went horizontal again. A window let in a glimpse of sunshine; the rain was over. Two swords hanging from the far wall caught his eye, and he slowly walked over to examine them.

A padded kneeler was on the floor before the swords. The two swords were carefully displayed. Both wore black sheaths. One was nearly two feet long, with a slight curve to the blade. The other was about two-thirds the length of the sword above it. The swords looked vaguely familiar. Modo glanced at the wall behind the swords. Above them was a world map, but different from the one Charley had shown him and his bros. The United States were off to the side; the map was centered with Asia in the middle. There was writing on it, but he couldn't read it. On either side of the map were a collection of framed photographs. Almost all the people were very fair, with dark hair and epicanthic eyes. In some of the pictures, people wore ordinary clothing, the sort he'd gotten used to seeing Earthlings wear. In others, the men wore ordinary clothing, but the women wore elaborate robes. And in what appeared to be the oldest photographs, everyone wore robes. Modo remembered a Toshiro Mifune movie he and his bros had seen with Charley. The robes were kimonos. The blades were samurai swords. The long one was a katana; the shorter one was a wakazashi.

"Those were my Daddy's," a young voice said behind him.

Modo whirled, and nearly lost his balance. Ken stood at the doorway. The mouse had been too distracted to hear the boy come in. He took a deep breath. Once he felt sturdy on his feet again, he asked, "Was your father a sword fighter?"

"Mama says he was a mechanic and a sho- shauph," the ten-year-old stumbled over the big word.

"A chauffeur?" Modo asked.

Ken nodded. "He drove this rich guy around and took care of all his cars."

Modo noticed the past tense. He took another look at the swords, map, and pictures, and wondered if it was a family altar. "He's dead?"

"Grandma says so. Mama says maybe. He and his rich guy disappeared before I was born. Mama says it was a kidnapping gone wrong. She wants to know if you're well enough for breakfast."

"Yeah, I'd like some breakfast," Modo agreed.

"What do mice eat for breakfast?" Ken seemed far more interested in the dietary habits of giant alien rodents than he was in the father he'd never met.

"Anything humans do. Whatever your mama's got in the kitchen'll be fine; she don't need to do anything fancy for me." As a freedom fighter against the Plutarkian invaders, Modo had gone hungry too many times to be fussy about what he ate. "Lead the way."

Ken shook his head. "I don't think Mama wants you out of bed yet."

Modo opened his mouth to protest that he was perfectly capable of walking to the kitchen to eat when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. One of the few color photographs showed Sky, looking several years younger, and an Asian man. The man, presumably Ken's father, wore a chauffeur's uniform. Sky was in uniform, too: a police uniform.

Modo closed his mouth again. He'd seen enough Earth TV to know the police motto was "to serve and protect." He'd also seen a lot of Earth movies and TV shows where police were untrustworthy, their weapons for sale to the highest bidder. He'd seen other shows where cops were heroes, courageous defenders and avengers. Which sort was Sky? Was she just taking care of him until she could turn him over to the authorities?

He heard footsteps and turned to see Sky standing in the doorway.

"Who told you that you could get out of bed?" she demanded. She didn't wait for an answer. "Get back in that bed this instant."

"Yes, ma'am," Modo agreed meekly. She sounded too much like his grey-furred mama to argue. There was something about mothers that was universal.

"Ken, didn't I send you up to see if Mr. Modo was hungry?"

"Yes, Mama, and he says he is," the boy reported.

Her tone a little gentler, Sky asked, "You feel up to eating solid food?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"He says he'll eat anything we got, Mama," Ken reported.

"We'll start you out with some toast and juice. If you can keep that down, I'll let you have a little more."

Modo had to bite his lip to keep from chuckling at how much she sounded like his own mother back on Mars. "Thank you, Mama Sky."

"Back to bed." She stood there waiting, not leaving the room until he did so. He wasn't brave enough to disobey her.

 **BMFM BMFM BMFM BMFM**

Throttle and Vinnie investigated Limburger Tower, as discreetly as two giant rodents could. They beat up some of Limburger's minions and henchmen, which was good stress relief for them, but didn't find Modo.

Charley stayed in the garage, working on an old AMC Ambassador and worrying. Mostly worrying.

 **BMFM BMFM BMFM BMFM**

Sky removed the thermometer from Modo's mouth. "Your fever's coming down. That's good."

Modo did not reply. He was still pondering what he had learned about Sky before breakfast. He wanted to trust her, but he wasn't sure he should.

"I tried to ask you before, but you fell asleep. Is there someone I can call – someone I can let know you're all right? Well, not all right, but alive at least."

Modo's right eye narrowed. "My bros'll be worried about me, yeah. But I ain't sure I want to give their number to a cop to trace."

"Sgt. Schuyler is off-duty at the moment. I'm not wearing my badge. I'm not in uniform."

Modo only stared at her.

She sighed. Her eyebrow rose. "Do you know how long the paperwork for a wire tap takes? By the time a judge said yes, all your bruises will have long since healed." She deliberately did not mention that wire tapping and tracing phone calls not only required different technology, but fell under completely different regulations. "As far as I know, you aren't wanted for any crimes in Chicago … with the possible exception of being an illegal alien, and that's outside my jurisdiction." She laid a hand on his shoulder. "You are not a prisoner. You are a guest in my home."

Modo thought a moment. Once upon a time, back on Mars, that sentence was more than just a statement of fact. It was a pledge of hospitality and protection.

"The Last Chance Garage. Call the Last Chance Garage; they'll take a message," Modo said.

Sky nodded. "I'll call and let them know you're alive and up to visitors, but not well enough too go home yet."

"Thank you, Mama Sky." Modo closed his eyes. "Don't s'pose you've got ten or twelve aspirin?"

"I'll get you six, then call."

 **BMFM BMFM BMFM BMFM**

Charley grabbed the phone before the first ring ended,banging her knuckles on the Ambassador's undercarriage as she hurried to answer. "Last Chance Garage, Charley Davidson speaking."

"This is Joyce Schuyler. I'm looking for whomever is in charge of your lost and found department."

"That would be me," Charley said. No customers had left anything behind at the garage recently.

"I think I may have something of yours: gray, six foot, does a decent Nick Fury impression?"

"Modo? You found Modo!"

"Question – are you Charley-ma'am?"

"Yes, he calls me that sometimes. Where is he? Is he all right?" Charley asked.

"He's alive, but Id'd be lyinh if I said he was all right."

"Oh, no!" Charley exclaimed. "How badly is he hurt?"

Sky hesitated a second before answering. "Bad enough he's bandaged and on bed rest. Well enough to appreciate some visitors." She paused before continuing. "He mentioned his bros. If anyone has first aid experience particular to his, um, background, that would be helpful."

If Charley hadn't been so worried, she might have been amused by the way tried to talk around Modo being a giant alien mouse. "The guys know more than I do about his anatomy."

"If whomever comes to visit would bring a change of clothes and some painkillers, it would be appreciated."

"Can do."

Sky gave Charley the address. "We're just above Pulaski's Bowling Alley."

As soon as Charley hung up the phone, she raced for the CB radio. "Throttle, Vinnie, come in. Throttle, Vinnie, can you hear me?"

"We hear you, Charley-girl," Throttle replied.

"He's alive! Come back to the garage ASAP," Charley demanded.

Vinnie howled triumphantly.

"On our way," Throttle acknowledged.

 **BMFM BMFM BMFM BMFM**

The pair arrived at the Last Chance Garage so quickly that Charley knew they hadn't been anywhere near the speed limit. Charley didn't scold them. She seldom respected speed limits herself, and besides, this was for Modo.

Vinnie pulled off his helmet and turned his head, scanning the garage from left to right. "Where's Modo?"

"At Pulaski's Bowling Alley," Charley replied.

Throttle swore. "What's he doing there?"

"Recuperating. The lady who's taking care of him asked me to bring some Martian-safe painkillers. Do you have any left in your first aid kits?"

"This'll kill what little is left," Throttle admitted, "but better to kill our supplies than our bro."

"Joyce Schuyler. Why does that name sound familiar?" Charley asked herself.

"Never heard of her," Vinnie said.

Charley raised one eyebrow, but said nothing. There was plenty Vinnie didn't know about life on Earth, even after more than a year living on the third planet from the sun. "I wasn't sure if we should all go, or just me. Call me paranoid, but it might be a trap."

Throttle nodded. "We all go, but you go first. Make sure it's safe."

"You want Charley to go first when it might be a trap?" Vinnie protested. "We're supposed to rescue damsels from distress, not shove them into the line of fire."

"Charley goes first, then signals. She's human. Let's face it," Throttle said, "we're a little … conspicuous. But we go to get Modo, trap or not. He'd come for us."

Vinnie and Charley nodded. Whether this was a rescue mission or a sickbed visit, they would do whatever they could for Modo.

 **BMFM BMFM BMFM BMFM**

Throttle, Vinnie, and Charley parked their motorcycles out of sight, behind the dumpsters by the bowling alley's back door. Throttle took his helmet off and tried to contact Modo telepathically. After a moment, he frowned.

"Anything?" Charley asked.

"I can feel him – sort of – but I can't hear him."

Charley took off her own helmet and latched it to the back of her Harley-Davidson. "Well, here goes nothing."

Vinnie reached out and put a paw on her arm. "Be careful."

"I will."

A few minutes later, Charley was knocking on the door of the bowling alley's second floor. She heard running feet and childish voices.

"I'll get it!"

"My turn."

"I'll get it," Charley heard a woman say.

A moment later a strawberry blonde woman opened the door. She was older than Charley, in her 30s or wore blue jeans and a black t-shirt with a white 8X logo. She looked Charley over carefully, but discreetly. "May I help you?"

"I'm Charlene Davidson. You called about Modo?"

Sky's face broke into a smile. She extended her hand to shake Charley's. "Joyce Schuyler. Come in, please. I wasn't expecting you so soon. This way." Sky turned and led the way to Modo's room.

She tapped lightly on the door. "Are you awake?"

"Yes, ma'am," Modo called through the door.

Sky opened the door. "You've got a visitor."

"Modo!" Charley started to rush toward the bed, then stopped herself. "Are you safe to hug?"

"Probably not, but you'll hurt my feelings if you don't, Charley-ma'am."

Charley walked the last two feet to the bed and hugged Modo as gently as she could. "You scared us, Modo."

"Scared me, too," he admitted.

"Let's make it unanimous," Sky chimed in. "I think everyone got a little freaked out by this. I'm going to give you some privacy, OK? Holler if you need me." She left the room without waiting for an answer and closed the door behind her.

"Are you all right? How badly are you hurt? What happened?" Charley demanded.

"Easy, Charley, don't forget to breathe." Modo patted the edge of his bed.

Charley sat down beside him. She took a deep breath. "How are you doing?"

Modo held out his arm to show off his stitches. "Sliced up, bruised, battered, possible cracked ribs, and a probable concussion. Can't tell you how much it hurts without using language I don't dare use in front of you."

Charley didn't bother telling him that no matter what he said, she'd probably heard it before. Heck, she'd probably said it herself.

"I was trying to lose Limburger's men, when my bike skidded going through a," Modo paused, trying to remember the word, "a puddle." It wasn't a word that was used often on Mars. "Next thing I knew, I woke up here, with Mama Sky taking care of me."

"Mama Sky?"

"Mrs. Schuyler. That's what she said to call her."

Charlie hugged Modo as gently as she could, not wanting to pain his cracked ribs. She glanced at the poster above the bed. It had a collage of four women and a quotation: Elizabeth I, Queen Victoria, Cleopatra, and Boudicca, "Whatever women do, they must do twice as well as men to be thought half as good. Luckily, this is not difficult." Charlotte Whitten

# * # * # * # * # * # * # * # * #

 **Author's Note:** Joyce Schuyler was a Mary Sue I created back in the late '70s, long before I knew of the existence of fanfic and before I had heard the word Mary Sue. I created her to be worthy of Kato, the Green Hornet's assistant, and in attempting to make her worthy of him, I may have gone a little overboard. I worked so hard to make her worthy of Kato, that she didn't have time to date him.

Sky currently lives with son Ken Kato,10; nephew Aaron Schuyler, 16; niece Alice Schuyler, 16; late partner's son Malachi Washington, 7. Occasionally other strays, runaways, witnesses, etc.

 _Background info not for publication, only for the benefit of beta-readers and fanzine editors._

 **Throttle** (voiced by Rob Paulsen) - The leader-figure of the trio with tan fur. Throttle's vision was damaged in the same incident that caused the losses of Modo's arm and the right side of Vinnie's face. As a result, he wears green sunglasses with field spec capabilities. On his right hand he wears a battle glove (coined "Nuke Knucks") which increases the strength of his blows with that fist. He also has a laser pistol as another weapon of choice. His first symbolic quote in the series was, "In this wild and woolly universe, there are three things you can count on: your brains, your bros and your bike!"

 **Modo** (voiced by Dorian Harewood) - The gentle giant of the three with gray fur and an eye-patch, suggesting that his eye may have been damaged during Karbunkle's experiments. He lost his right arm in the same incident that burned off the right side of Vinnie's face and damaged Throttle's vision. His robotic arm replacement has a built-in laser cannon and has great strength. When angry, his right eye flashes red. He is prone to fits of rage when he or his bros are referred to as 'rats'. He is by far the strongest of the three mice, but also seems to have the most obvious capacity to love (Vinnie's attempts are often considered to be flirting). His bike is the only one out of the three with a definite name ("Lil' Hoss"), and the one with the most demonstrated AI capability. He always references what his greyfurred mama used to say. His first signature quote was "RAT?!" "My mama didn't raise no stinkin' rat! UNDERSTAND?!"

 **Vinnie** (voiced by Ian Ziering) - Self-proclaimed lady-killer with white fur. The right side of his face was burned off in the same incident where Throttle's vision was damaged and where Modo lost his right arm; thus, Vinnie wears a flexible faceplate. He rides a red racing Sport bike, and is a thrill-seeker, often volunteering for the most dangerous tasks, enjoying the rush and subsequent glory. He wears a green X-cross bandolier on his chest and wields expanding flares as well. His bike seems to have the greatest arsenal of weaponry between the three, and he is the best overall biker of the trio. He has a recurring catchphrase, "What a rush!", and has a signature laugh of triumph.

 **Charlene "Charley" Davidson** (voiced by Leeza Miller McGee) - The Mice are always backed up by Charley, a human mechanic who owns the Last Chance Garage in Chicago. She is a headstrong woman, and is always ready to go into battle, though the Biker Mice try to keep her out of dangerous situations. Aside from being the target of Vinnie's affection (which she playfully blows off), she is also responsible for upgrades on the bros' bikes, is a high-tech genius in her own right, and is a biker every bit as skilled as the Biker Mice. Her name is quite obviously a pun on the famous Harley Davidson brand of motorcycles

1 Yes, I stole this from _Rooster._ In the immortal words of Ernest Pratt, "It's not plagiarism, it's an homage." (Anybody old enough to remember _Rooster_ or _Legend_?")


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